Famous Affinities of History V2 by Lyndon Orr

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In January, 1793, King Louis XVI. met his death upon the scaffold;and the queen was thrust into a foul prison. This was a signal foractivity among the Girondists in Normandy, and especially at Caen,where Charlotte was present at their meetings and heard theirfervid oratory. There was a plot to march on Paris, yet in someinstinctive way she felt that such a scheme must fail. It was thenthat she definitely formed the plan of going herself, alone, tothe French capital to seek out the hideous Marat and to kill himwith her own hands.

To this end she made application for a passport allowing her tovisit Paris. This passport still exists, and it gives us anofficial description of the girl. It reads:

Apart from this verbal description we have two portraits paintedwhile she was in prison. Both of them make the description of thepassport seem faint and pale. The real Charlotte had a wealth ofchestnut hair which fell about her face and neck in gloriousabundance. Her great gray eyes spoke eloquently of truth andcourage. Her mouth was firm yet winsome, and her form combinedboth strength and grace. Such is the girl who, on reaching Paris,wrote to Marat in these words:

Citizen, I have just arrived from Caen. Your love for your nativeplace doubtless makes you wish to learn the events which haveoccurred in that part of the republic. I shall call at yourresidence in about an hour. Be so good as to receive me and giveme a brief interview. I will put you in such condition as torender great service to France.

This letter failed to gain her admission, and so did another whichshe wrote soon after. The fact is that Marat was grievously ill.His disease had reached a point where the pain could be assuagedonly by hot water; and he spent the greater part of his timewrapped in a blanket and lying in a large tub.

A third time, however, the persistent girl called at his house andinsisted that she must see him, saying that she was herself indanger from the enemies of the Republic. Through an open doorMarat heard her mellow voice and gave orders that she should beadmitted.

As she entered she gazed for a moment upon the lank figure rollingin the tub, the rat-like face, and the shifting eyes. Then sheapproached him, concealing in the bosom of her dress a longcarving-knife which she had purchased for two francs. In answer toMarat's questioning look she told him that there was muchexcitement at Caen and that the Girondists were plotting there.

To this Marat answered, in his harsh voice:

"All these men you mention shall be guillotined in the next fewdays!"

As he spoke Charlotte flashed out the terrible knife and with allher strength she plunged it into his left side, where it pierced alung and a portion of his heart.

Marat, with the blood gushing from his mouth, cried out:

"Help, darling!"

His cry was meant for one of the two women in the house. Bothheard it, for they were in the next room; and both of them rushedin and succeeded in pinioning Charlotte Corday, who, indeed, madeonly a slight effort to escape. Troops were summoned, she wastaken to the Prison de l'Abbaye, and soon after she was arraignedbefore the revolutionary tribunal.

Placed in the dock, she glanced about her with an air of pride, asof one who gloried in the act which she had just performed. Awritten charge was read. She was asked what she had to say.Lifting her head with a look of infinite satisfaction, sheanswered in a ringing voice:

"Nothing--except that I succeeded!"

A lawyer was assigned for her defense. He pleaded for herearnestly, declaring that she must he regarded as insane; butthose clear, calm eyes and that gentle face made her sanity amatter of little doubt. She showed her quick wit in the answerswhich she gave to the rough prosecutor, Fouquier-Tinville, whotried to make her confess that she had accomplices.

"Who prompted you to do this deed?" roared Tinville.

"I needed no prompting. My own heart was sufficient."

"In what, then, had Marat wronged you?"

"He was a savage beast who was going to destroy the remains ofFrance in the fires of civil war."

"But whom did you expect to benefit?" insinuated the prosecutor.

"I have killed one man to save a hundred thousand."

"What? Did you imagine that you had murdered all the Marats?"

"No, but, this one being dead, the rest will perhaps takewarning."

Thus her directness baffled all the efforts of the prosecution totrap her into betraying any of her friends. The court, however,sentenced her to death. She was then immured in the Conciergerie.

This dramatic court scene was the beginning of that strange, briefromance to which one can scarcely find a parallel. At the timethere lived in Paris a young German named Adam Lux. The continualtalk about Charlotte Corday had filled him with curiosityregarding this young girl who had been so daring and so patriotic.She was denounced on every hand as a murderess with the face of aMedusa and the muscles of a Vulcan. Street songs about her weredinned into the ears of Adam Lux.

As a student of human nature he was anxious to see this terriblecreature. He forced his way to the front of the crowded benches inthe court-room and took his stand behind a young artist who wasfinishing a beautiful sketch. From that moment until the end ofthe trial the eyes of Adam Lux were fastened on the prisoner. Whata contrast to the picture he had imagined!

A mass of regal chestnut hair crowned with the white cap of aNorman peasant girl; gray eyes, very sad and serious, but lookingserenely forth from under long, dark lashes; lips slightly curvedwith an expression of quiet humor; a face the color of the sun andwind, a bust indicative of perfect health, the chin of a Caesar,and the whole expression one of almost divine self-sacrifice. Suchwere the features that the painter was swiftly putting upon hiscanvas; but behind them Adam Lux discerned the soul for which hegladly sacrificed both his liberty and his life.

He forgot his surroundings and seemed to see only that beautiful,pure face and to hear only the exquisite cadences of the wonderfulvoice. When Charlotte was led forth by a file of soldiers Adamstaggered from the scene and made his way as best he might to hislodgings. There he lay prostrate, his whole soul filled with thelove of her who had in an instant won the adoration of his heart.

Once, and only once again, when the last scene opened on thetragedy, did he behold the heroine of his dreams.

On the 17th of July Charlotte Corday was taken from her prison tothe gloomy guillotine. It was toward evening, and nature had givena setting fit for such an end. Blue-black thunder-clouds rolled inhuge masses across the sky until their base appeared to rest onthe very summit of the guillotine. Distant thunder rolled andgrumbled beyond the river. Great drops of rain fell upon thesoldiers' drums. Young, beautiful, unconscious of any wrong,Charlotte Corday stood beneath the shadow of the knife.

At the supreme moment a sudden ray from the setting sun brokethrough the cloud-wrack and fell upon her slender figure until sheglowed in the eyes of the startled spectators like a statue cut inburnished bronze. Thus illumined, as it were, by a light fromheaven itself, she bowed herself beneath the knife and paid thepenalty of a noble, if misdirected, impulse. As the blade fell herlips quivered with her last and only plea:

"My duty is enough--the rest is nothing!"

Adam Lux rushed from the scene a man transformed. He bore gravenupon his heart neither the mob of tossing red caps nor the glareof the sunset nor the blood-stained guillotine, but that last lookfrom those brilliant eyes. The sight almost deprived him of hisreason. The self-sacrifice of the only woman he had ever loved,even though she had never so much as seen him, impelled him with asort of fury to his own destruction.

He wrote a bitter denunciation of the judges, of the officers, andof all who had been followers of Marat. This document he printed,and scattered copies of it through every quarter in Paris. Thelast sentences are as follows:

The guillotine is no longer a disgrace. It has become a sacredaltar, from which every taint has been removed by the innocentblood shed there on the 17th of July. Forgive me, my divineCharlotte, if I find it impossible at the last moment to show thecourage and the gentleness that were yours! I glory because youare superior to me, for it is right that she who is adored shouldbe higher and more glorious than her adorer!

This pamphlet, spread broadcast among the people, was soonreported to the leaders of the rabble. Adam Lux was arrested fortreason against the Republic; but even these men had no desire tomake a martyr of this hot-headed youth. They would stop his mouthwithout taking his life. Therefore he was tried and speedily foundguilty, but an offer was made him that he might have passportsthat would allow him to return to Germany if only he would sign aretraction of his printed words.

Little did the judges understand the fiery heart of the man theyhad to deal with. To die on the same scaffold as the woman whom hehad idealized was to him the crowning triumph of his romanticlove. He gave a prompt and insolent refusal to their offer. Heswore that if released he would denounce his darling's murdererswith a still greater passion.

In anger the tribunal sentenced him to death. Only then he smiledand thanked his judges courteously, and soon after went blithelyto the guillotine like a bridegroom to his marriage feast.

Adam Lux! Spirit courtship had been carried on silently allthrough that terrible cross-examination of Charlotte Corday. Hisheart was betrothed to hers in that single gleam of the settingsun when she bowed beneath the knife. One may believe that thesetwo souls were finally united when the same knife fell sullenlyupon his neck and when his life-blood sprinkled the altar that wasstill stained with hers.

NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA

There are four women who may be said to have deeply influenced thelife of Napoleon. These four are the only ones who need to betaken into account by the student of his imperial career. Thegreat emperor was susceptible to feminine charms at all times; butjust as it used to be said of him that "his smile never rose abovehis eyes," so it might as truly be said that in most instances thethrobbing of his heart did not affect his actions.

Women to him were the creatures of the moment, although he mightseem to care for them and to show his affection in extravagantways, as in his affair with Mlle. Georges, the beautiful butrather tiresome actress. As for Mme. de Stael, she bored him todistraction by her assumption of wisdom. That was not the kind ofwoman that Napoleon cared for. He preferred that a woman should bewomanly, and not a sort of owl to sit and talk with him about thetheory of government.

When it came to married women they interested him only because ofthe children they might bear to grow up as recruits for hisinsatiate armies. At the public balls given at the Tuileries hewould walk about the gorgeous drawing-rooms, and when a lady waspresented to him he would snap out, sharply:

"How many children have you?"

If she were able to answer that she had several the emperor wouldlook pleased and would pay her some compliment; but if she saidthat she had none he would turn upon her sharply and say:

"Then go home and have some!"

Of the four women who influenced his life, first must comeJosephine, because she secured him his earliest chance ofadvancement. She met him through Barras, with whom she was said tobe rather intimate. The young soldier was fascinated by her--themore because she was older than he and possessed all the practisedarts of the creole and the woman of the world. When she marriedhim she brought him as her dowry the command of the army of Italy,where in a few months he made the tri-color, borne by raggedtroops, triumphant over the splendidly equipped hosts of Austria.

She was his first love, and his knowledge of her perfidy gave himthe greatest shock and horror of his whole life; yet she mighthave held him to the end if she had borne an heir to the imperialthrone. It was her failure to do so that led Napoleon to divorceJosephine and marry the thick-lipped Marie Louise of Austria.There were times later when he showed signs of regret and said:

"I have had no luck since I gave up Josephine!"

Marie Louise was of importance for a time--the short time whenshe entertained her husband and delighted him by giving birth tothe little King of Rome. Yet in the end she was but an episode;fleeing from her husband in his misfortune, becoming the mistressof Count Neipperg, and letting her son--l'Aiglon--die in a landthat was far from France.

Napoleon's sister, Pauline Bonaparte, was the third woman whocomes to mind when we contemplate the great Corsican's career.She, too, is an episode. During the period of his ascendancy sheplagued him with her wanton ways, her sauciness and trickery. Itwas amusing to throw him into one of his violent rages; butPauline was true at heart, and when her great brother was sent toElba she followed him devotedly and gave him all her store ofjewels, including the famous Borghese diamonds, perhaps the mostsuperb of all gems known to the western world. She would gladlyhave followed him, also, to St. Helena had she been permitted.Remaining behind, she did everything possible in conspiring tosecure his freedom.

But, after all, Pauline and Marie Louise count for comparativelylittle. Josephine's fate was interwoven with Napoleon's; and, withhis Corsican superstition, he often said so. The fourth woman, ofwhom I am writing here, may be said to have almost equaledJosephine in her influence on the emperor as well as in the pathosof her life-story.

On New-Year's Day of 1807 Napoleon, who was then almost Emperor ofEurope, passed through the little town of Bronia, in Poland.Riding with his cavalry to Warsaw, the ancient capital of thePolish kingdom, he seemed a very demigod of battle.

True, he had had to abandon his long-cherished design of invadingand overrunning England, and Nelson had shattered his fleets andpractically driven his flag from the sea; but the naval disasterof Trafalgar had speedily been followed by the triumph ofAusterlitz, the greatest and most brilliant of all Napoleon'svictories, which left Austria and Russia humbled to the veryground before him.

Then Prussia had dared to defy the over-bearing conqueror and hadput into the field against him her armies trained by Frederick theGreat; but these he had shattered almost at a stroke, winning inone day the decisive battles of Jena and Auerstadt. He had stabledhis horses in the royal palace of the Hohenzollerns and hadpursued the remnant of the Prussian forces to the Russian border.

As he marched into the Polish provinces the people swarmed bythousands to meet him and hail him as their country's savior. Theybelieved down to the very last that Bonaparte would make the Polesonce more a free and independent nation and rescue them from thetyranny of Russia.

Napoleon played upon this feeling in every manner known to hisartful mind. He used it to alarm the Czar. He used it tointimidate the Emperor of Austria; but more especially did he useit among the Poles themselves to win for his armies thousands uponthousands of gallant soldiers, who believed that in fighting forNapoleon they were fighting for the final independence of theirnative land.

Therefore, with the intensity of patriotism which is a passionamong the Poles, every man and every woman gazed at Napoleon withsomething like adoration; for was not he the mighty warrior whohad in his gift what all desired? Soldiers of every rank swarmedto his standards. Princes and nobles flocked about him. Those whostayed at home repeated wonderful stories of his victories andprayed for him and fed the flame which spread through all thecountry. It was felt that no sacrifice was too great to win hisfavor; that to him, as to a deity, everything that he desiredshould be yielded up, since he was to restore the liberty ofPoland.

And hence, when the carriage of the emperor dashed into Bronia,surrounded by Polish lancers and French cuirassiers, the enormouscrowd surged forward and blocked the way so that their hero couldnot pass because of their cheers and cries and supplications.

In the midst of it all there came a voice of peculiar sweetnessfrom the thickest portion of the crowd.

"Please let me pass!" said the voice. "Let me see him, if only fora moment!"

The populace rolled backward, and through the lane which they madea beautiful girl with dark blue eyes that flamed and streaminghair that had become loosened about her radiant face wasconfronting the emperor. Carried away by her enthusiasm, shecried:

"Thrice welcome to Poland! We can do or say nothing to express ourjoy in the country which you will surely deliver from its tyrant."

The emperor bowed and, with a smile, handed a great bouquet ofroses to the girl, for her beauty and her enthusiasm had made adeep impression on him.

"Take it," said he, "as a proof of my admiration. I trust that Imay have the pleasure of meeting you at Warsaw and of hearing yourthanks from those beautiful lips."

In a moment more the trumpets rang out shrilly, the horsemenclosed up beside the imperial carriage, and it rolled away amidthe tumultuous shouting of the populace.

The girl who had so attracted Napoleon's attention was MarieWalewska, descended from an ancient though impoverished family inPoland. When she was only fifteen she was courted by one of thewealthiest men in Poland, the Count Walewska. He was three or fourtimes her age, yet her dark blue eyes, her massive golden hair,and the exquisite grace of her figure led him to plead that shemight become his wife. She had accepted him, but the marriage wasthat of a mere child, and her interest still centered upon hercountry and took the form of patriotism rather than that ofwifehood and maternity.

It was for this reason that the young Countess had visited Bronia.She was now eighteen years of age and still had the sort ofromantic feeling which led her to think that she would keep insome secret hiding-place the bouquet which the greatest man alivehad given her.

But Napoleon was not the sort of man to forget anything that hadgiven him either pleasure or the reverse. He who, at the height ofhis cares, could recall instantly how many cannon were in eachseaport of France and could make out an accurate list of all hismilitary stores; he who could call by name every soldier in hisguard, with a full remembrance of the battles each man had foughtin and the honors that he had won--he was not likely to forget solovely a face as the one which had gleamed with peculiar radiancethrough the crowd at Bronia.

On reaching Warsaw he asked one or two well-informed persons aboutthis beautiful stranger. Only a few hours had passed before PrincePoniatowski, accompanied by other nobles, called upon her at herhome.

"I am directed, madam," said he, "by order of the Emperor ofFrance, to bid you to be present at a ball that is to be given inhis honor to-morrow evening."

Mme. Walewska was startled, and her face grew hot with blushes.Did the emperor remember her escapade at Bronia? If so, how had hediscovered her? Why should he seek her out and do her such anhonor?

"That, madam, is his imperial majesty's affair," Poniatowski toldher. "I merely obey his instructions and ask your presence at theball. Perhaps Heaven has marked you out to be the means of savingour unhappy country."

In this way, by playing on her patriotism, Poniatowski almostpersuaded her, and yet something held her back. She trembled,though she was greatly fascinated; and finally she refused to go.

Scarcely had the envoy left her, however, when a great company ofnobles entered in groups and begged her to humor the emperor.Finally her own husband joined in their entreaties and actuallycommanded her to go; so at last she was compelled to yield.

It was by no means the frank and radiant girl who was nowpreparing again to meet the emperor. She knew not why, and yet herheart was full of trepidation and nervous fright, the cause ofwhich she could not guess, yet which made her task a severeordeal. She dressed herself in white satin, with no adornment savea wreath of foliage in her hair.

As she entered the ballroom she was welcomed by hundreds whom shehad never seen before, but who were of the highest nobility ofPoland. Murmurs of admiration followed her, and finallyPoniatowski came to her and complimented her, besides bringing hera message that the emperor desired her to dance with him.

"I am very sorry," she said, with a quiver of the lips, "but Ireally cannot dance. Be kind enough to ask the emperor to excuseme."

But at that very moment she felt some strange magnetic influence;and without looking up she could feel that Napoleon himself wasstanding by her as she sat with blanched face and downcast eyes,not daring to look up at him.

"White upon white is a mistake, madam," said the emperor, in hisgentlest tones. Then, stooping low, he whispered, "I had expecteda far different reception."

She neither smiled nor met his eyes. He stood there for a momentand then passed on, leaving her to return to her home with a heavyheart. The young countess felt that she had acted wrongly, and yetthere was an instinct--an instinct that she could not conquer.

In the gray of the morning, while she was still tossingfeverishly, her maid knocked at the door and brought her a hastilyscribbled note. It ran as follows:

I saw none but you, I admired none but you; I desire only you.Answer at once, and calm the impatient ardor of--N.

These passionate words burned from her eyes the veil that hadhidden the truth from her. What before had been mere blindinstinct became an actual verity. Why had she at first rushedforth into the very streets to hail the possible deliverer of hercountry, and then why had she shrunk from him when he sought tohonor her! It was all clear enough now. This bedside missive meantthat he had intended her dishonor and that he had looked upon hersimply as a possible mistress.

At once she crushed the note angrily in her hand.

"There is no answer at all," said she, bursting into bitter tearsat the very thought that he should dare to treat her in this way.

But on the following morning when she awoke her maid was standingbeside her with a second letter from Napoleon. She refused to openit and placed it in a packet with the first letter, and orderedthat both of them should be returned to the emperor.

She shrank from speaking to her husband of what had happened, andthere was no one else in whom she dared confide. All through thatday there came hundreds of visitors, either of princely rank ormen who had won fame by their gallantry and courage. They allbegged to see her, but to them all she sent one answer--that shewas ill and could see no one.

After a time her husband burst into her room, and insisted thatshe should see them.

"Why," exclaimed he, "you are insulting the greatest men and thenoblest women of Poland! More than that, there are some of themost distinguished Frenchmen sitting at your doorstep, as it were.There is Duroc, grand marshal of France, and in refusing to seehim you are insulting the great emperor on whom depends everythingthat our country longs for. Napoleon has invited you to a statedinner and you have given him no answer whatever. I order you torise at once and receive these ladies and gentlemen who have doneyou so much honor!"

She could not refuse. Presently she appeared in her drawing-room,where she was at once surrounded by an immense throng of her owncountrymen and countrywomen, who made no pretense ofmisunderstanding the situation. To them, what was one woman'shonor when compared with the freedom and independence of theirnation? She was overwhelmed by arguments and entreaties. She waseven accused of being disloyal to the cause of Poland if sherefused her consent.

One of the strangest documents of that period was a letter sent toher and signed by the noblest men in Poland. It contained apowerful appeal to her patriotism. One remarkable passage evenquotes the Bible to point out her line of duty. A portion of thisletter ran as follows:

Did Esther, think you, give herself to Ahasuerus out of thefulness of her love for him? So great was the terror with which heinspired her that she fainted at the sight of him. We maytherefore conclude that affection had but little to do with herresolve. She sacrificed her own inclinations to the salvation ofher country, and that salvation it was her glory to achieve. Maywe be enabled to say the same of you, to your glory and our ownhappiness!

After this letter came others from Napoleon himself, full of themost humble pleading. It was not wholly distasteful thus to havethe conqueror of the world seek her out and offer her hisadoration any more than it was distasteful to think that therevival of her own nation depended on her single will. M. FredericMasson, whose minute studies regarding everything relating toNapoleon have won him a seat in the French Academy, writes ofMarie Walewska at this time: Every force was now brought into playagainst her. Her country, her friends, her religion, the Old andthe New Testaments, all urged her to yield; they all combined forthe ruin of a simple and inexperienced girl of eighteen who had noparents, whose husband even thrust her into temptation, and whosefriends thought that her downfall would be her glory.

Amid all these powerful influences she consented to attend thedinner. To her gratification Napoleon treated her with distantcourtesy, and, in fact, with a certain coldness.

"I heard that Mme. Walewska was indisposed. I trust that she hasrecovered," was all the greeting that he gave her when they met.

Every one else with whom she spoke overwhelmed her with flatteryand with continued urging; but the emperor himself for a timeacted as if she had displeased him. This was consummate art; foras soon as she was relieved of her fears she began to regret thatshe had thrown her power away.

During the dinner she let her eyes wander to those of the emperoralmost in supplication. He, the subtlest of men, knew that he hadwon. His marvelous eyes met hers and drew her attention to him asby an electric current; and when the ladies left the great dining-room Napoleon sought her out and whispered in her ear a few wordsof ardent love.

It was too little to alarm her seriously now. It was enough tomake her feel that magnetism which Napoleon knew so well how toevoke and exercise. Again every one crowded about her withcongratulations. Some said:

"He never even saw any of US. His eyes were all for YOU! Theyflashed fire as he looked at you."

"You have conquered his heart," others said, "and you can do whatyou like with him. The salvation of Poland is in your hands."

The company broke up at an early hour, but Mme. Walewska was askedto remain. When she was alone General Duroc--one of the emperor'sfavorite officers and most trusted lieutenants--entered and placeda letter from Napoleon in her lap. He tried to tell her astactfully as possible how much harm she was doing by refusing theimperial request. She was deeply affected, and presently, whenDuroc left her, she opened the letter which he had given her andread it. It was worded thus:

There are times when all splendors become oppressive, as I feelbut too deeply at the present moment. How can I satisfy thedesires of a heart that yearns to cast itself at your feet, whenits impulses are checked at every point by considerations of thehighest moment? Oh, if you would, you alone might overcome theobstacles that keep us apart. MY FRIEND DUROC WILL MAKE ALL EASYFOR YOU. Oh, come, come! Your every wish shall be gratified! Yourcountry will be dearer to me when you take pity on my poor heart.N.

Every chance of escape seemed to be closed. She had Napoleon's ownword that he would free Poland in return for her self-sacrifice.Moreover, her powers of resistance had been so weakened that, likemany women, she temporized. She decided that she would meet theemperor alone. She would tell him that she did not love him, andyet would plead with him to save her beloved country.

As she sat there every tick of the clock stirred her to a newexcitement. At last there came a knock upon the door, a cloak wasthrown about her from behind, a heavy veil was drooped about hergolden hair, and she was led, by whom she knew not, to the street,where a finely appointed carriage was waiting for her.

No sooner had she entered it than she was driven rapidly throughthe darkness to the beautifully carved entrance of a palace. Halfled, half carried, she was taken up the steps to a door which waseagerly opened by some one within. There were warmth and light andcolor and the scent of flowers as she was placed in a comfortablearm-chair. Her wrappings were taken from her, the door was closedbehind her; and then, as she looked up, she found herself in thepresence of Napoleon, who was kneeling at her feet and utteringsoothing words.

Wisely, the emperor used no violence. He merely argued with her;he told her over and over his love for her; and finally hedeclared that for her sake he would make Poland once again astrong and splendid kingdom.

Several hours passed. In the early morning, before daylight, therecame a knock at the door.

"Already?" said Napoleon. "Well, my plaintive dove, go home andrest. You must not fear the eagle. In time you will come to lovehim, and in all things you shall command him."

Then he led her to the door, but said that he would not open itunless she promised to see him the next day--a promise which shegave the more readily because he had treated her with suchrespect.

On the following morning her faithful maid came to her bedsidewith a cluster of beautiful violets, a letter, and severaldaintily made morocco cases. When these were opened there leapedout strings and necklaces of exquisite diamonds, blazing in themorning sunlight. Mme. Walewska seized the jewels and flung themacross the room with an order that they should be taken back atonce to the imperial giver; but the letter, which was in the sameromantic strain as the others, she retained.

On that same evening there was another dinner, given to theemperor by the nobles, and Marie Walewska attended it, but ofcourse without the diamonds, which she had returned. Nor did shewear the flowers which had accompanied the diamonds.

When Napoleon met her he frowned upon her and made her tremblewith the cold glances that shot from his eyes of steel. Hescarcely spoke to her throughout the meal, but those who satbeside her were earnest in their pleading.

Again she waited until the guests had gone away, and with alighter heart, since she felt that she had nothing to fear. Butwhen she met Napoleon in his private cabinet, alone, his mood wasvery different from that which he had shown before. Instead ofgentleness and consideration he was the Napoleon of camps, and notof courts. He greeted her bruskly.

"I scarcely expected to see you again," said he. "Why did yourefuse my diamonds and my flowers? Why did you avoid my eyes atdinner? Your coldness is an insult which I shall not brook." Thenhe raised his voice to that rasping, almost blood-curdling tonewhich even his hardiest soldiers dreaded: "I will have you knowthat I mean to conquer you. You SHALL--yes, I repeat it, youSHALL love me! I have restored the name of your country. It owesits very existence to me."

Then he resorted to a trick which he had played years before indealing with the Austrians at Campo Formio.

"See this watch which I am holding in my hand. Just as I dash itto fragments before you, so will I shatter Poland if you drive meto desperation by rejecting my heart and refusing me your own."

As he spoke he hurled the watch against the opposite wall withterrific force, dashing it to pieces. In terror, Mme. Walewskafainted. When she resumed consciousness there was Napoleon wipingaway her tears with the tenderness of a woman and with words ofself-reproach.

The long siege was over. Napoleon had conquered, and this girl ofeighteen gave herself up to his caresses and endearments, thinkingthat, after all, her love of country was more than her own honor.

Her husband, as a matter of form, put her away from him, though atheart he approved what she had done, while the Polish peopleregarded her as nothing less than a national heroine. To them shewas no minister to the vices of an emperor, but rather one whowould make him love Poland for her sake and restore its greatness.

So far as concerned his love for her, it was, indeed, almostidolatry. He honored her in every way and spent all the time athis disposal in her company. But his promise to restore Poland henever kept, and gradually she found that he had never meant tokeep it.

"I love your country," he would say, "and I am willing to aid inthe attempt to uphold its rights, but my first duty is to France.I cannot shed French blood in a foreign cause."

By this time, however, Marie Walewska had learned to love Napoleonfor his own sake. She could not resist his ardor, which matchedthe ardor of the Poles themselves. Moreover, it flattered her tosee the greatest soldier in the world a suppliant for her smiles.

For some years she was Napoleon's close companion, spending longhours with him and finally accompanying him to Paris. She was themother of Napoleon's only son who lived to manhood. This son, whobore the name of Alexandre Florian de Walewski, was born in Polandin 1810, and later was created a count and duke of the secondFrench Empire. It may be said parenthetically that he was a man ofgreat ability. Living down to 1868, he was made much of byNapoleon III., who placed him in high offices of state, which hefilled with distinction. In contrast with the Duc de Morny, whowas Napoleon's illegitimate half-brother, Alexandre de Walewskistood out in brilliant contrast. He would have nothing to do withstock-jobbing and unseemly speculation.

"I may be poor," he said--though he was not poor--"but at least Iremember the glory of my father and what is due to his greatname."

As for Mme. Walewska, she was loyal to the emperor, and lacked thegreed of many women whom he had made his favorites. Even at Elba,when he was in exile and disgrace, she visited him that she mightendeavor to console him. She was his counselor and friend as wellas his earnestly loved mate. When she died in Paris in 1817, whilethe dethroned emperor was a prisoner at St. Helena, the word"Napoleon" was the last upon her lips.

THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE

It was said of Napoleon long ago that he could govern emperors andkings, but that not even he could rule his relatives. He himselfonce declared:

"My family have done me far more harm than I have been able to dothem good."

It would be an interesting historical study to determine just howfar the great soldier's family aided in his downfall by theirselfishness, their jealousy, their meanness, and theiringratitude.

There is something piquant in thinking of Napoleon as a domesticsort of person. Indeed, it is rather difficult to do so. When wespeak his name we think of the stern warrior hurling his armies upbloody slopes and on to bloody victory. He is the man whose steelyeyes made his haughtiest marshals tremble, or else the wise, far-seeing statesman and lawgiver; but decidedly he is not a householdmodel. We read of his sharp speech to women, of his outrageousmanners at the dinner-table, and of the thousand and one detailswhich Mme. de Remusat has chronicled--and perhaps in partinvented, for there has always existed the suspicion that heranimus was that of a woman who had herself sought the imperialfavor and had failed to win it.

But, in fact, all these stories relate to the Napoleon of courtsand palaces, and not to the Napoleon of home. In his private lifethis great man was not merely affectionate and indulgent, but heeven showed a certain weakness where his relatives were concerned,so that he let them prey upon him almost without end.

He had a great deal of the Italian largeness and lavishness ofcharacter with his family. When a petty officer he nearly starvedhimself in order to give his younger brother, Louis, a militaryeducation. He was devotedly fond of children, and they were fondof him, as many anecdotes attest. His passionate love forJosephine before he learned of her infidelity is almost painful toread of; and even afterward, when he had been disillusioned, andwhen she was paying Fouche a thousand francs a day to spy uponNapoleon's every action, he still treated her with friendlinessand allowed her extravagance to embarrass him.

He made his eldest brother, Joseph, King of Spain, and Spainproved almost as deadly to him as did Russia. He made his youngestbrother, Jerome, King of Westphalia, and Jerome turned the palaceinto a pigsty and brought discredit on the very name of Bonaparte.His brother Louis, for whom he had starved himself, he placed uponthe throne of Holland, and Louis promptly devoted himself to hisown interests, conniving at many things which were inimical toFrance. He was planning high advancement for his brother Lucien,and Lucien suddenly married a disreputable actress and fled withher to England, where he was received with pleasure by the mostpersistent of all Napoleon's enemies.

So much for his brothers--incompetent, ungrateful, or openly hisfoes. But his three sisters were no less remarkable in therelations which they bore to him. They have been styled "the threecrowned courtesans," and they have been condemned together asbeing utterly void of principle and monsters of ingratitude.

Much of this censure was well deserved by all of them--by Carolineand Elise and Pauline. But when we look at the facts impartiallywe shall find something which makes Pauline stand out alone asinfinitely superior to her sisters. Of all the Bonapartes she wasthe only one who showed fidelity and gratitude to the greatemperor, her brother. Even Mme. Mere, Napoleon's mother, whobeyond all question transmitted to him his great mental andphysical power, did nothing for him. At the height of his splendorshe hoarded sous and francs and grumblingly remarked:

"All this is for a time. It isn't going to last!"

Pauline, however, was in one respect different from all herkindred. Napoleon made Elise a princess in her own right and gaveher the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. He married Caroline to MarshalMurat, and they became respectively King and Queen of Naples. ForPauline he did very little--less, in fact, than for any othermember of his family--and yet she alone stood by him to the end.

This feather-headed, languishing, beautiful, distracting morsel offrivolity, who had the manners of a kitten and the morals of acat, nevertheless was not wholly unworthy to be Napoleon's sister.One has to tell many hard things of her; and yet one almostpardons her because of her underlying devotion to the man who madethe name of Bonaparte illustrious for ever. Caroline, Queen ofNaples, urged her husband to turn against his former chief. Elise,sour and greedy, threw in her fortunes with the Murats. Pauline,as we shall see, had the one redeeming trait of gratitude.

To those who knew her she was from girlhood an incarnation of whatused to be called "femininity." We have to-day another and ahigher definition of womanhood, but to her contemporaries, and tomany modern writers, she has seemed to be first of all woman--"woman to the tips of her rosy finger-nails," says Levy. Those whosaw her were distracted by her loveliness. They say that no onecan form any idea of her beauty from her pictures. "A veritablemasterpiece of creation," she had been called. Frederic Massondeclares:

She was so much more the typical woman that with her the defectscommon to women reached their highest development, while herbeauty attained a perfection which may justly be called unique.

No one speaks of Pauline Bonaparte's character or of herintellect, but wholly of her loveliness and charm, and, it must beadded, of her utter lack of anything like a moral sense.

Even as a child of thirteen, when the Bonapartes left Corsica andtook up their abode in Marseilles, she attracted universalattention by her wonderful eyes, her grace, and also by the utterlack of decorum which she showed. The Bonaparte girls at this timelived almost on charity. The future emperor was then a captain ofartillery and could give them but little out of his scanty pay.

Pauline--or, as they called her in those days, Paulette--woreunbecoming hats and shabby gowns, and shoes that were full ofholes. None the less, she was sought out by several men of note,among them Freron, a commissioner of the Convention. He visitedPauline so often as to cause unfavorable comment; but he was inlove with her, and she fell in love with him to the extent of hercapacity. She used to write him love letters in Italian, whichwere certainly not lacking in ardor. Here is the end of one ofthem:

I love you always and most passionately. I love you for ever, mybeautiful idol, my heart, my appealing lover. I love you, loveyou, love you, the most loved of lovers, and I swear never to loveany one else!

This was interesting in view of the fact that soon afterward shefell in love with Junot, who became a famous marshal. But her loveaffairs never gave her any serious trouble; and the three sisters,who now began to feel the influence of Napoleon's rise to power,enjoyed themselves as they had never done before. At Antibes theyhad a beautiful villa, and later a mansion at Milan.

By this time Napoleon had routed the Austrians in Italy, and allFrance was ringing with his name. What was Pauline like in hermaidenhood? Arnault says:

She was an extraordinary combination of perfect physical beautyand the strangest moral laxity. She was as pretty as you please,but utterly unreasonable. She had no more manners than a school-girl--talking incoherently, giggling at everything and nothing,and mimicking the most serious persons of rank.

General de Ricard, who knew her then, tells in his monograph ofthe private theatricals in which Pauline took part, and of thesport which they had behind the scenes. He says:

The Bonaparte girls used literally to dress us. They pulled ourears and slapped us, but they always kissed and made up later. Weused to stay in the girls' room all the time when they weredressing.

Napoleon was anxious to see his sisters in some way settled. Heproposed to General Marmont to marry Pauline. The girl was thenonly seventeen, and one might have had some faith in hercharacter. But Marmont was shrewd and knew her far too well. Thewords in which he declined the honor are interesting:

"I know that she is charming and exquisitely beautiful; yet I havedreams of domestic happiness, of fidelity, and of virtue. Suchdreams are seldom realized, I know. Still, in the hope of winningthem--"

And then he paused, coughed, and completed what he had to say in asort of mumble, but his meaning was wholly clear. He would notaccept the offer of Pauline in marriage, even though she was thesister of his mighty chief.

Then Napoleon turned to General Leclerc, with whom Pauline had forsome time flirted, as she had flirted with almost all the officersof Napoleon's staff. Leclerc was only twenty-six. He was rich andof good manners, but rather serious and in poor health. This wasnot precisely the sort of husband for Pauline, if we look at it inthe conventional way; but it served Napoleon's purpose and did notin the least interfere with his sister's intrigues.

Poor Leclerc, who really loved Pauline, grew thin, and graverstill in manner. He was sent to Spain and Portugal, and finallywas made commander-in-chief of the French expedition to Haiti,where the famous black rebel, Toussaint l'Ouverture, was headingan uprising of the negroes.

Napoleon ordered Pauline to accompany her husband. Pauline flatlyrefused, although she made this an occasion for ordering"mountains of pretty clothes and pyramids of hats." But still sherefused to go on board the flag-ship. Leclerc expostulated andpleaded, but the lovely witch laughed in his face and stillpersisted that she would never go.

Word was brought to Napoleon. He made short work of herresistance.

"Bring a litter," he said, with one of his steely glances. "Ordersix grenadiers to thrust her into it, and see that she goes onboard forthwith."

And so, screeching like an angry cat, she was carried on board,and set sail with her husband and one of her former lovers. Shefound Haiti and Santo Domingo more agreeable than she hadsupposed. She was there a sort of queen who could do as shepleased and have her orders implicitly obeyed. Her dissipation wassomething frightful. Her folly and her vanity were beyond belief.

But at the end of two years both she and her husband fell ill. Hewas stricken down by the yellow fever, which was decimating theFrench army. Pauline was suffering from the results of her life ina tropical climate. Leclerc died, the expedition was abandoned,and Pauline brought the general's body back to France. When he wasburied she, still recovering from her fever, had him interred in acostly coffin and paid him the tribute of cutting off herbeautiful hair and burying it with him.

"What a touching tribute to her dead husband!" said some one toNapoleon.

The emperor smiled cynically as he remarked:

"H'm! Of course she knows that her hair is bound to fall out afterher fever, and that it will come in longer and thicker for beingcropped."

Napoleon, in fact, though he loved Pauline better than his othersisters--or perhaps because he loved her better--was very strictwith her. He obliged her to wear mourning, and to observe some ofthe proprieties; but it was hard to keep her within bounds.

Presently it became noised about that Prince Camillo Borghese wasexceedingly intimate with her. The prince was an excellentspecimen of the fashionable Italian. He was immensely rich. Hispalace at Rome was crammed with pictures, statues, and every sortof artistic treasure. He was the owner, moreover, of the famousBorghese jewels, the finest collection of diamonds in the world.

Napoleon rather sternly insisted upon her marrying Borghese.Fortunately, the prince was very willing to be connected withNapoleon; while Pauline was delighted at the idea of havingdiamonds that would eclipse all the gems which Josephinepossessed; for, like all of the Bonapartes, she detested herbrother's wife. So she would be married and show her diamonds toJosephine. It was a bit of feminine malice which she could notresist.

The marriage took place very quietly at Joseph Bonaparte's house,because of the absence of Napoleon; but the newly made princesswas invited to visit Josephine at the palace of Saint-Cloud. Herewas to be the triumph of her life. She spent many days in planninga toilet that should be absolutely crushing to Josephine. Whatevershe wore must be a background for the famous diamonds. Finally shedecided on green velvet.

When the day came Pauline stood before a mirror and gazed atherself with diamonds glistening in her hair, shimmering aroundher neck, and fastened so thickly on her green velvet gown as toremind one of a moving jewel-casket. She actually shed tears forjoy. Then she entered her carriage and drove out to Saint-Cloud.

But the Creole Josephine, though no longer young, was a woman ofgreat subtlety as well as charm. Stories had been told to her ofthe green velvet, and therefore she had her drawing-roomredecorated in the most uncompromising blue. It killed the greenvelvet completely. As for the diamonds, she met that maneuver bywearing not a single gem of any kind. Her dress was an Indianmuslin with a broad hem of gold.

Her exquisite simplicity, coupled with her dignity of bearing,made the Princess Pauline, with her shower of diamonds, and hergreen velvet displayed against the blue, seem absolutely vulgar.Josephine was most generous in her admiration of the Borghesegems, and she kissed Pauline on parting. The victory was hers.

There is another story of a defeat which Pauline met from anotherlady, one Mme. de Coutades. This was at a magnificent ball givento the most fashionable world of Paris. Pauline decided upongoing, and intended, in her own phrase, to blot out every womanthere. She kept the secret of her toilet absolutely, and sheentered the ballroom at the psychological moment, when all theguests had just assembled.

She appeared; and at sight of her the music stopped, silence fellupon the assemblage, and a sort of quiver went through every one.Her costume was of the finest muslin bordered with golden palm-leaves. Four bands, spotted like a leopard's skin, were woundabout her head, while these in turn were supported by littleclusters of golden grapes. She had copied the head-dress of aBacchante in the Louvre. All over her person were cameos, and justbeneath her breasts she wore a golden band held in place by anengraved gem. Her beautiful wrists, arms, and hands were bare. Shehad, in fact, blotted out her rivals.

Nevertheless, Mme. de Coutades took her revenge. She went up toPauline, who was lying on a divan to set off her loveliness, andbegan gazing at the princess through a double eye-glass. Paulinefelt flattered for a moment, and then became uneasy. The lady whowas looking at her said to a companion, in a tone of compassion:

"What a pity! She really would be lovely if it weren't for THAT!"

"For what?" returned her escort.

"Why, are you blind? It's so remarkable that you SURELY must seeit."

Pauline was beginning to lose her self-composure. She flushed andlooked wildly about, wondering what was meant. Then she heard Mme.Coutades say:

"Why, her ears. If I had such ears as those I would cut them off!"

Pauline gave one great gasp and fainted dead away. As a matter offact, her ears were not so bad. They were simply very flat andcolorless, forming a contrast with the rosy tints of her face. Butfrom that moment no one could see anything but these ears; andthereafter the princess wore her hair low enough to cover them.

This may be seen in the statue of her by Canova. It was considereda very daring thing for her to pose for him in the nude, for onlya bit of drapery is thrown over her lower limbs. Yet it is truethat this statue is absolutely classical in its conception andexecution, and its interest is heightened by the fact that itsmodel was what she afterward styled herself, with true Napoleonicpride--"a sister of Bonaparte."

Pauline detested Josephine and was pleased when Napoleon divorcedher; but she also disliked the Austrian archduchess, Marie Louise,who was Josephine's successor. On one occasion, at a great courtfunction, she got behind the empress and ran out her tongue ather, in full view of all the nobles and distinguished personspresent. Napoleon's eagle eye flashed upon Pauline and blazed likefire upon ice. She actually took to her heels, rushed out of theball, and never visited the court again.

It would require much time to tell of her other eccentricities, ofher intrigues, which were innumerable, of her quarrel with herhusband, and of the minor breaches of decorum with which shestartled Paris. One of these was her choice of a huge negro tobathe her every morning. When some one ventured to protest, sheanswered, naively:

"What! Do you call that thing a MAN?"

And she compromised by compelling her black servitor to go out andmarry some one at once, so that he might continue hisministrations with propriety!

To her Napoleon showed himself far more severe than with eitherCaroline or Elise. He gave her a marriage dowry of half a millionfrancs when she became the Princess Borghese, but after that hewas continually checking her extravagances. Yet in 1814, when thedownfall came and Napoleon was sent into exile at Elba, Paulinewas the only one of all his relatives to visit him and spend hertime with him. His wife fell away and went back to her Austrianrelatives. Of all the Bonapartes only Pauline and Mme. Mereremained faithful to the emperor.

Even then Napoleon refused to pay a bill of hers for sixty-twofrancs, while he allowed her only two hundred and forty francs forthe maintenance of her horses. But she, with a generosity of whichone would have thought her quite incapable, gave to her brother agreat part of her fortune. When he escaped from Elba and began thecampaign of 1815 she presented him with all the Borghese diamonds.In fact, he had them with him in his carriage at Waterloo, wherethey were captured by the English. Contrast this with the meannessand ingratitude of her sisters and her brothers, and one may wellbelieve that she was sincerely proud of what it meant to be lasoeur de Bonaparte.

When he was sent to St. Helena she was ill in bed and could notaccompany him. Nevertheless, she tried to sell all her trinkets,of which she was so proud, in order that she might give him help.When he died she received the news with bitter tears "on hearingall the particulars of that long agony."

As for herself, she did not long survive. At the age of forty-fourher last moments came. Knowing that she was to die, she sent forPrince Borghese and sought a reconciliation. But, after all, shedied as she had lived--"the queen of trinkets" (la reine descolifichets). She asked the servant to bring a mirror. She gazedinto it with her dying eyes; and then, as she sank back, it waswith a smile of deep content.

"I am not afraid to die," she said. "I am still beautiful!"

THE STORY OF THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE AND COUNT NEIPPERG

There is one famous woman whom history condems while at the sametime it partly hides the facts which might mitigate the harshnessof the judgment that is passed upon her. This woman is MarieLouise, Empress of France, consort of the great Napoleon, andarchduchess of imperial Austria. When the most brilliant figure inall history, after his overthrow in 1814, was in tawdry exile onthe petty island of Elba, the empress was already about to becomea mother; and the father of her unborn child was not Napoleon, butanother man. This is almost all that is usually remembered of her--that she was unfaithful to Napoleon, that she abandoned him inthe hour of his defeat, and that she gave herself with readinessto one inferior in rank, yet with whom she lived for years, and towhom she bore what a French writer styled "a brood of bastards."

Naturally enough, the Austrian and German historians do not havemuch to say of Marie Louise, because in her own disgrace she alsobrought disgrace upon the proudest reigning family in Europe.Naturally, also, French writers, even those who are hostile toNapoleon, do not care to dwell upon the story; since France itselfwas humiliated when its greatest genius and most splendid soldierwas deceived by his Austrian wife. Therefore there are still manywho know little beyond the bare fact that the Empress Marie Louisethrew away her pride as a princess, her reputation as a wife, andher honor as a woman. Her figure seems to crouch in a sort ofmurky byway, and those who pass over the highroad of historyignore it with averted eyes.

In reality the story of Napoleon and Marie Louise and of the Countvon Neipperg is one which, when you search it to the very core,leads you straight to a sex problem of a very curious nature.Nowhere else does it occur in the relations of the greatpersonages of history; but in literature Balzac, that master ofpsychology, has touched upon the theme in the early chapters ofhis famous novel called "A Woman of Thirty."

As to the Napoleonic story, let us first recall the facts of thecase, giving them in such order that their full significance maybe understood.

In 1809 Napoleon, then at the plenitude of his power, shookhimself free from the clinging clasp of Josephine and procured theannulment of his marriage to her. He really owed her nothing.Before he knew her she had been the mistress of another. In thefirst years of their life together she had been notoriouslyunfaithful to him. He had held to her from habit which was in parta superstition; but the remembrance of the wrong which she haddone him made her faded charms at times almost repulsive. And thenJosephine had never borne him any children; and without a son toperpetuate his dynasty, the gigantic achievements which he hadwrought seemed futile in his eyes, and likely to crumble intonothingness when he should die.

No sooner had the marriage been annulled than his titanic ambitionleaped, as it always did, to a tremendous pinnacle. He would wed.He would have children. But he would wed no petty princess. Thisman who in his early youth had felt honored by a marriage with thealmost declassee widow of a creole planter now stretched out hishand that he might take to himself a woman not merely royal butimperial.

At first he sought the sister of the Czar of Russia; but Alexanderentertained a profound distrust of the French emperor, and managedto evade the tentative demand. There was, however, a reigningfamily far more ancient than the Romanoffs--a family which hadheld the imperial dignity for nearly six centuries--the oldest andthe noblest blood in Europe. This was the Austrian house ofHapsburg. Its head, the Emperor Francis, had thirteen children, ofwhom the eldest, the Archduchess Marie Louise, was then in hernineteenth year.

Napoleon had resented the rebuff which the Czar had given him. Heturned, therefore, the more eagerly to the other project. Yetthere were many reasons why an Austrian marriage might bedangerous, or, at any rate, ill-omened. Only sixteen years before,an Austrian arch-duchess, Marie Antionette, married to the rulerof France, had met her death upon the scaffold, hated and cursedby the French people, who had always blamed "the Austrian" for theevil days which had ended in the flames of revolution. Again, thefather of the girl to whom Napoleon's fancy turned had been thebitter enemy of the new regime in France. His troops had beenbeaten by the French in five wars and had been crushed atAusterlitz and at Wagram. Bonaparte had twice entered Vienna atthe head of a conquering army, and thrice he had slept in theimperial palace at Schonbrunn, while Francis was fleeing throughthe dark, a beaten fugitive pursued by the swift squadrons ofFrench cavalry.

The feeling of Francis of Austria was not merely that of thevanquished toward the victor. It was a deep hatred almostreligious in its fervor. He was the head and front of the old-timefeudalism of birth and blood; Napoleon was the incarnation of themodern spirit which demolished thrones and set an iron heel uponcrowned heads, giving the sacred titles of king and prince tosoldiers who, even in palaces, still showed the swaggeringbrutality of the camp and the stable whence they sprang. Yet, justbecause an alliance with the Austrian house seemed in so many waysimpossible, the thought of it inflamed the ardor of Napoleon allthe more.

"Impossible?" he had once said, contemptuously. "The word'impossible' is not French."

The Austrian alliance, unnatural though it seemed, was certainlyquite possible. In the year 1809 Napoleon had finished his fifthwar with Austria by the terrific battle of Wagram, which broughtthe empire of the Hapsburgs to the very dust. The conqueror's rudehand had stripped from Francis province after province. He hadeven let fall hints that the Hapsburgs might be dethroned and thatAustria might disappear from the map of Europe, to be dividedbetween himself and the Russian Czar, who was still his ally. Itwas at this psychological moment that the Czar wounded Napoleon'spride by refusing to give the hand of his sister Anne.

The subtle diplomats of Vienna immediately saw their chance.Prince Metternich, with the caution of one who enters the cage ofa man-eating-tiger, suggested that the Austrian archduchess wouldbe a fitting bride for the French conqueror. The notion soothedthe wounded vanity of Napoleon. From that moment events movedswiftly; and before long it was understood that there was to be anew empress in France, and that she was to be none other than thedaughter of the man who had been Napoleon's most persistent foeupon the Continent. The girl was to be given--sacrificed, if youlike--to appease an imperial adventurer. After such a marriage,Austria would be safe from spoliation. The reigning dynasty wouldremain firmly seated upon its historic throne.

But how about the girl herself? She had always heard Napoleonspoken of as a sort of ogre--a man of low ancestry, a brutal andfaithless enemy of her people. She knew that this bold, rough-spoken soldier less than a year before had added insult to theinjury which he had inflicted on her father. In publicproclamations he had called the Emperor Francis a coward and aliar. Up to the latter part of the year Napoleon was to herimagination a blood-stained, sordid, and yet all-powerful monster,outside the pale of human liking and respect. What must have beenher thoughts when her father first told her with averted face thatshe was to become the bride of such a being?

Marie Louise had been brought up, as all German girls of rank werethen brought up, in quiet simplicity and utter innocence. Inperson she was a tall blonde, with a wealth of light brown hairtumbling about a face which might be called attractive because itwas so youthful and so gentle, but in which only poets andcourtiers could see beauty. Her complexion was rosy, with thatpeculiar tinge which means that in the course of time it willbecome red and mottled. Her blue eyes were clear and childish. Herfigure was good, though already too full for a girl who wasyounger than her years.

She had a large and generous mouth with full lips, the lower onebeing the true "Hapsburg lip," slightly pendulous--a feature whichhas remained for generation after generation as a sure sign ofHapsburg blood. One sees it in the present emperor of Austria, inthe late Queen Regent of Spain, and in the present King of Spain,Alfonso. All the artists who made miniatures or paintings of MarieLouise softened down this racial mark so that no likeness of hershows it as it really was. But take her all in all, she was asimple, childlike, German madchen who knew nothing of the outsideworld except what she had heard from her discreet and watchfulgoverness, and what had been told her of Napoleon by her uncles,the archdukes whom he had beaten down in battle.

When she learned that she was to be given to the French emperorher girlish soul experienced a shudder; but her father told herhow vital was this union to her country and to him. With a sort ofpiteous dread she questioned the archdukes who had called Napoleonan ogre.

"Oh, that was when Napoleon was an enemy," they replied. "Now heis our friend."

Marie Louise listened to all this, and, like the obedient Germangirl she was, yielded her own will.

Events moved with a rush, for Napoleon was not the man to dally.Josephine had retired to her residence at Malmaison, and Paris wasalready astir with preparations for the new empress who was toassure the continuation of the Napoleonic glory by giving childrento her husband. Napoleon had said to his ambassador with his usualbluntness:

"This is the first and most important thing--she must havechildren."

To the girl whom he was to marry he sent the following letter--anodd letter, combining the formality of a negotiator with theveiled ardor of a lover:

MY COUSIN: The brilliant qualities which adorn your person haveinspired in me a desire to serve you and to pay you homage. Inmaking my request to the emperor, your father, and praying him tointrust to me the happiness of your imperial highness, may I hopethat you will understand the sentiments which lead me to this act?May I flatter myself that it will not be decided solely by theduty of parental obedience? However slightly the feelings of yourimperial highness may incline to me, I wish to cultivate them withso great care, and to endeavor so constantly to please you ineverything, that I flatter myself that some day I shall proveattractive to you. This is the end at which I desire to arrive,and for which I pray your highness to be favorable to me.

Immediately everything was done to dazzle the imagination of thegirl. She had dressed always in the simplicity of the school-room.Her only ornaments had been a few colored stones which shesometimes wore as a necklace or a bracelet. Now the resources ofall France were drawn upon. Precious laces foamed about her.Cascades of diamonds flashed before her eyes. The costliest andmost exquisite creations of the Parisian shops were spread aroundher to make up a trousseau fit for the princess who was soon tobecome the bride of the man who had mastered continental Europe.

The archives of Vienna were ransacked for musty documents whichwould show exactly what had been done for other Austrianprincesses who had married rulers of France. Everything wasduplicated down to the last detail. Ladies-in-waiting throngedabout the young archduchess; and presently there came to her QueenCaroline of Naples, Napoleon's sister, of whom Napoleon himselfonce said: "She is the only man among my sisters, as Joseph is theonly woman among my brothers." Caroline, by virtue of her rank asqueen, could have free access to her husband's future bride. Also,there came presently Napoleon's famous marshal, Berthier, Princeof Neuchatel, the chief of the Old Guard, who had just beencreated Prince of Wagram--a title which, very naturally, he didnot use in Austria. He was to act as proxy for Napoleon in thepreliminary marriage service at Vienna.

All was excitement. Vienna had never been so gay. Money waslavished under the direction of Caroline and Berthier. There wereilluminations and balls. The young girl found herself the centerof the world's interest; and the excitement made her dizzy. Shecould not but be flattered, and yet there were many hours when herheart misgave her. More than once she was found in tears. Herfather, an affectionate though narrow soul, spent an entire daywith her consoling and reassuring her. One thought she always keptin mind--what she had said to Metternich at the very first: "Iwant only what my duty bids me want." At last came the officialmarriage, by proxy, in the presence of a splendid gathering. Thevarious documents were signed, the dowry was arranged for. Giftswere scattered right and left. At the opera there were galaperformances. Then Marie Louise bade her father a sad farewell.Almost suffocated by sobs and with her eyes streaming with tears,she was led between two hedges of bayonets to her carriage, whilecannon thundered and all the church-bells of Vienna rang a joyfulpeal.

She set out for France accompanied by a long train of carriagesfilled with noblemen and noblewomen, with ladies-in-waiting andscores of attendant menials. The young bride--the wife of a manwhom she had never seen--was almost dead with excitement andfatigue. At a station in the outskirts of Vienna she scribbled afew lines to her father, which are a commentary upon her state ofmind:

I think of you always, and I always shall. God has given me powerto endure this final shock, and in Him alone I have put all mytrust. He will help me and give me courage, and I shall findsupport in doing my duty toward you, since it is all for you thatI have sacrificed myself.

There is something piteous in this little note of a frightenedgirl going to encounter she knew not what, and clinging almostfrantically to the one thought--that whatever might befall her,she was doing as her father wished.

One need not recount the long and tedious journey of many daysover wretched roads, in carriages that jolted and lurched andswayed. She was surrounded by unfamiliar faces and was compelledto meet at every town the chief men of the place, all of whom paidher honor, but stared at her with irrepressible curiosity. Dayafter day she went on and on. Each morning a courier on a foaminghorse presented her with a great cluster of fresh flowers and afew lines scrawled by the unknown husband who was to meet her ather journey's end.

There lay the point upon which her wandering thoughts werefocused--the journey's end! The man whose strange, mysteriouspower had forced her from her school-room, had driven her througha nightmare of strange happenings, and who was waiting for hersomewhere to take her to himself, to master her as he had masteredgenerals and armies!

What was marriage? What did it mean? What experience still laybefore her! These were the questions which she must have askedherself throughout that long, exhausting journey. When she thoughtof the past she was homesick. When she thought of the immediatefuture she was fearful with a shuddering fear.

At last she reached the frontier of France, and her carriagepassed into a sort of triple structure, the first pavilion ofwhich was Austrian, while the middle pavilion was neutral, and thefarther one was French. Here she was received by those who wereafterward to surround her--the representatives of the Napoleoniccourt. They were not all plebeians and children of the Revolution,ex-stable boys, ex-laundresses. By this time Napoleon had gatheredaround himself some of the noblest families of France, who hadrallied to the empire. The assemblage was a brilliant one. Therewere Montmorencys and Beaumonts and Audenardes in abundance. Butto Marie Louise, as to her Austrian attendants, they were allalike. They were French, they were strangers, and she shrank fromthem.

Yet here her Austrians must leave her. All who had accompanied herthus far were now turned back. Napoleon had been insistent on thispoint. Even her governess, who had been with her since herchildhood, was not allowed to cross the French frontier. So fixedwas Napoleon's purpose to have nothing Austrian about her, thateven her pet dog, to which she clung as a girl would cling, wastaken from her. Thereafter she was surrounded only by Frenchfaces, by French guards, and was greeted only by salvos of Frenchartillery.

In the mean time what was Napoleon doing at Paris. Since theannulment of his marriage with Josephine he had gone into a sortof retirement. Matters of state, war, internal reforms, no longerinterested him; but that restless brain could not sink intorepose. Inflamed with the ardor of a new passion, that passion wasall the greater because he had never yet set eyes upon its object.Marriage with an imperial princess flattered his ambition. Theyouth and innocence of the bride stirred his whole being with athrill of novelty. The painted charms of Josephine, the mercenaryfavors of actresses, the calculated ecstasies of the women of thecourt who gave themselves to him from vanity, had long sincepalled upon him. Therefore the impatience with which he awaitedthe coming of Marie Louise became every day more tense.

For a time he amused himself with planning down to the very lastdetails the demonstrations that were to be given in her honor. Heorganized them as minutely as he had ever organized a conqueringarmy. He showed himself as wonderful in these petty things as hehad in those great strategic combinations which had baffled theablest generals of Europe. But after all had been arranged--evento the illuminations, the cheering, the salutes, and the etiquetteof the court--he fell into a fever of impatience which gave himsleepless nights and frantic days. He paced up and down theTuileries, almost beside himself. He hurried off courier aftercourier with orders that the postilions should lash their horsesto bring the hour of meeting nearer still. He scribbled loveletters. He gazed continually on the diamond-studded portrait ofthe woman who was hurrying toward him.

At last as the time approached he entered a swift traveling-carriage and hastened to Compiegne, about fifty miles from Paris,where it had been arranged that he should meet his consort andwhence he was to escort her to the capital, so that they might bemarried in the great gallery of the Louvre. At Compiegne thechancellerie had been set apart for Napoleon's convenience, whilethe chateau had been assigned to Marie Louise and her attendants.When Napoleon's carriage dashed into the place, drawn by horsesthat had traveled at a gallop, the emperor could not restrainhimself. It was raining torrents and night was coming on, yet,none the less, he shouted for fresh horses and pushed on toSoissons, where the new empress was to stop and dine. When hereached there and she had not arrived, new relays of horses weredemanded, and he hurried off once more into the dark.

At the little village of Courcelles he met the courier who wasriding in advance of the empress's cortege.

"She will be here in a few moments!" cried Napoleon; and he leapedfrom his carriage into the highway.

The rain descended harder than ever, and he took refuge in thearched doorway of the village church, his boots already bemired,his great coat reeking with the downpour. As he crouched beforethe church he heard the sound of carriages; and before long therecame toiling through the mud the one in which was seated the girlfor whom he had so long been waiting. It was stopped at an ordergiven by an officer. Within it, half-fainting with fatigue andfear, Marie Louise sat in the dark, alone.

Here, if ever, was the chance for Napoleon to win his bride. Couldhe have restrained himself, could he have shown the delicateconsideration which was demanded of him, could he have rememberedat least that he was an emperor and that the girl--timid andshuddering--was a princess, her future story might have been fardifferent. But long ago he had ceased to think of anything excepthis own desires.

He approached the carriage. An obsequious chamberlain drew asidethe leathern covering and opened the door, exclaiming as he didso, "The emperor!" And then there leaped in the rain-soaked, mud-bespattered being whose excesses had always been as unbridled ashis genius. The door was closed, the leathern curtain again drawn,and the horses set out at a gallop for Soissons. Within, theshrinking bride was at the mercy of pure animal passion, feelingupon her hot face a torrent of rough kisses, and yielding herselfin terror to the caresses of wanton hands.

At Soissons Napoleon allowed no halt, but the carriage plunged on,still in the rain, to Compiegne. There all the arrangements madewith so much care were thrust aside. Though the actual marriagehad not yet taken place, Napoleon claimed all the rights whichafterward were given in the ceremonial at Paris. He took the girlto the chancellerie, and not to the chateau. In an anteroom dinnerwas served with haste to the imperial pair and Queen Caroline.Then the latter was dismissed with little ceremony, the lightswere extinguished, and this daughter of a line of emperors wasleft to the tender mercies of one who always had about himsomething of the common soldier--the man who lives for loot andlust. ... At eleven the next morning she was unable to rise andwas served in bed by the ladies of her household.

These facts, repellent as they are, must be remembered when wecall to mind what happened in the next five years. The horror ofthat night could not be obliterated by splendid ceremonies, bystudious attention, or by all the pomp and gaiety of the court.Napoleon was then forty-one--practically the same age as his newwife's father, the Austrian emperor; Marie Louise was barelynineteen and younger than her years. Her master must have seemedto be the brutal ogre whom her uncles had described.

Installed in the Tuileries, she taught herself compliance. Ontheir marriage night Napoleon had asked her briefly: "What didyour parents tell you?" And she had answered, meekly: "To be yoursaltogether and to obey you in everything." But, though she gavecompliance, and though her freshness seemed enchanting toNapoleon, there was something concealed within her thoughts towhich he could not penetrate. He gaily said to a member of thecourt:

"Marry a German, my dear fellow. They are the best women in theworld--gentle, good, artless, and as fresh as roses."

Yet, at the same time, Napoleon felt a deep anxiety lest in hervery heart of hearts this German girl might either fear or hatehim secretly. Somewhat later Prince Metternich came from theAustrian court to Paris.

"I give you leave," said Napoleon, "to have a private interviewwith the empress. Let her tell you what she likes, and I shall askno questions. Even should I do so, I now forbid your answeringme."

Metternich was closeted with the empress for a long while. When hereturned to the ante-room he found Napoleon fidgeting about, hiseyes a pair of interrogation-points.

"I am sure," he said, "that the empress told you that I was kindto her?"

Metternich bowed and made no answer.

"Well," said Napoleon, somewhat impatiently, "at least I am surethat she is happy. Tell me, did she not say so?"

The Austrian diplomat remained unsmiling.

"Your majesty himself has forbidden me to answer," he returnedwith another bow.

We may fairly draw the inference that Marie Louise, though sheadapted herself to her surroundings, was never really happy.Napoleon became infatuated with her. He surrounded her with everypossible mark of honor. He abandoned public business to walk ordrive with her. But the memory of his own brutality must havevaguely haunted him throughout it all. He was jealous of her as hehad never been jealous of the fickle Josephine. Constant hasrecorded that the greatest precautions were taken to prevent anyperson whatsoever, and especially any man, from approaching theempress save in the presence of witnesses.

Napoleon himself underwent a complete change of habits anddemeanor. Where he had been rough and coarse he became attentiveand refined. His shabby uniforms were all discarded, and he spenthours in trying on new costumes. He even attempted to learn towaltz, but this he gave up in despair. Whereas before he atehastily and at irregular intervals, he now sat at dinner withunusual patience, and the court took on a character which it hadnever had. Never before had he sacrificed either his public dutyor his private pleasure for any woman. Even in the first ardor ofhis marriage with Josephine, when he used to pour out his heart toher in letters from Italian battle-fields, he did so only after hehad made the disposition of his troops and had planned hismovements for the following day. Now, however, he was not merelydevoted, but uxorious; and in 1811, after the birth of the littleKing of Rome, he ceased to be the earlier Napoleon altogether. Hehad founded a dynasty. He was the head of a reigning house. Heforgot the principles of the Revolution, and he ruled, as hethought, like other monarchs, by the grace of God.

As for Marie Louise, she played her part extremely well. Somewhathaughty and unapproachable to others, she nevertheless studiedNapoleon's every wish. She seemed even to be loving; but one canscarcely doubt that her obedience sprang ultimately from fear andthat her devotion was the devotion of a dog which has been beateninto subjection.

Her vanity was flattered in many ways, and most of all by herappointment as regent of the empire during Napoleon's absence inthe disastrous Russian campaign which began in 1812. It was inJune of that year that the French emperor held court at Dresden,where he played, as was said, to "a parterre of kings." This wasthe climax of his magnificence, for there were gathered all thesovereigns and princes who were his allies and who furnished thelevies that swelled his Grand Army to six hundred thousand men.Here Marie Louise, like her husband, felt to the full theintoxication of supreme power. By a sinister coincidence it washere that she first met the other man, then unnoticed and littleheeded, who was to cast upon her a fascination which in the endproved irresistible.

This man was Adam Albrecht, Count von Neipperg. There is somethingmysterious about his early years, and something baleful about hissilent warfare with Napoleon. As a very young soldier he had beenan Austrian officer in 1793. His command served in Belgium; andthere, in a skirmish, he was overpowered by the French in superiornumbers, but resisted desperately. In the melee a saber slashedhim across the right side of his face, and he was made prisoner.The wound deprived him of his right eye, so that for the rest ofhis life he was compelled to wear a black bandage to conceal themutilation.

From that moment he conceived an undying hatred of the French,serving against them in the Tyrol and in Italy. He always claimedthat had the Archduke Charles followed his advice, the Austrianswould have forced Napoleon's army to capitulate at Marengo, thusbringing early eclipse to the rising star of Bonaparte. Howeverthis may be, Napoleon's success enraged Neipperg and made hishatred almost the hatred of a fiend.

Hitherto he had detested the French as a nation. Afterward heconcentrated his malignity upon the person of Napoleon. In everyway he tried to cross the path of that great soldier, and, thoughNeipperg was comparatively an unknown man, his indomitable purposeand his continued intrigues at last attracted the notice of theemperor; for in 1808 Napoleon wrote this significant sentence:

The Count von Neipperg is openly known to have been the enemy ofthe French.

Little did the great conqueror dream how deadly was the blow whichthis Austrian count was destined finally to deal him!

Neipperg, though his title was not a high one, belonged to the oldnobility of Austria. He had proved his bravery in war and as aduelist, and he was a diplomat as well as a soldier. Despite hismutilation, he was a handsome and accomplished courtier, a man ofwide experience, and one who bore himself in a manner whichsuggested the spirit of romance. According to Masson, he was anAustrian Don Juan, and had won the hearts of many women. At thirtyhe had formed a connection with an Italian woman named TeresaPola, whom he had carried away from her husband. She had borne himfive children; and in 1813 he had married her in order that thesechildren might be made legitimate.

In his own sphere the activity of Neipperg was almost asremarkable as Napoleon's in a greater one. Apart from his exploitson the field of battle he had been attached to the Austrianembassy in Paris, and, strangely enough, had been decorated byNapoleon himself with, the golden eagle of the Legion of Honor.Four months later we find him minister of Austria at the court ofSweden, where he helped to lay the train of intrigue which was todetach Bernadotte from Napoleon's cause. In 1812, as has just beensaid, he was with Marie Louise for a short time at Dresden,hovering about her, already forming schemes. Two years after thishe overthrew Murat at Naples; and then hurried on post-haste tourge Prince Eugene to abandon Bonaparte.

When the great struggle of 1814 neared its close, and Napoleon,fighting with his back to the wall, was about to succumb to theunited armies of Europe, it was evident that the Austrian emperorwould soon be able to separate his daughter from her husband. Infact, when Napoleon was sent to Elba, Marie Louise returned toVienna. The cynical Austrian diplomats resolved that she shouldnever again meet her imperial husband. She was made Duchess ofParma in Italy, and set out for her new possessions; and the manwith the black band across his sightless eye was chosen to be herescort and companion.

When Neipperg received this commission he was with Teresa Pola atMilan. A strange smile flitted across his face; and presently heremarked, with cynical frankness:

"Before six months I shall be her lover, and, later on, herhusband."

He took up his post as chief escort of Marie Louise, and theyjourneyed slowly to Munich and Baden and Geneva, loitering on theway. Amid the great events which were shaking Europe this coupleattracted slight attention. Napoleon, in Elba, longed for his wifeand for his little son, the King of Rome. He sent countlessmessages and many couriers; but every message was intercepted, andno courier reached his destination. Meanwhile Marie Louise waslingering agreeably in Switzerland. She was happy to have escapedfrom the whirlpool of politics and war. Amid the romantic scenerythrough which she passed Neipperg was always by her side,attentive, devoted, trying in everything to please her. With himshe passed delightful evenings. He sang to her in his richbarytone songs of love. He seemed romantic with a touch ofmystery, a gallant soldier whose soul was also touched bysentiment.

One would have said that Marie Louise, the daughter of an imperialline, would have been proof against the fascinations of a personso far inferior to herself in rank, and who, beside the greatemperor, was less than nothing. Even granting that she had neverreally loved Napoleon, she might still have preferred to maintainher dignity, to share his fate, and to go down in history as theempress of the greatest man whom modern times have known.

But Marie Louise was, after all, a woman, and she followed theguidance of her heart. To her Napoleon was still the man who hadmet her amid the rain-storm at Courcelles, and had from the firstmoment when he touched her violated all the instincts of a virgin.Later he had in his way tried to make amends; but the horror ofthat first night had never wholly left her memory. Napoleon hadunrolled before her the drama of sensuality, but her heart had notbeen given to him. She had been his empress. In a sense it mightbe more true to say that she had been his mistress. But she hadnever been duly wooed and won and made his wife--an experiencewhich is the right of every woman. And so this Neipperg, with hisdeferential manners, his soothing voice, his magnetic touch, hisardor, and his devotion, appeased that craving which the master ofa hundred legions could not satisfy.

In less than the six months of which Neipperg had spoken thepsychological moment had arrived. In the dim twilight she listenedto his words of love; and then, drawn by that irresistible powerwhich masters pride and woman's will, she sank into her lover'sarms, yielding to his caresses, and knowing that she would beparted from him no more except by death.

From that moment he was bound to her by the closest ties and livedwith her at the petty court of Parma. His prediction came true tothe very letter. Teresa Pola died, and then Napoleon died, andafter this Marie Louise and Neipperg were united in a morganaticmarriage. Three children were born to them before his death in1829.

It is interesting to note how much of an impression was made uponher by the final exile of her imperial husband to St. Helena. Whenthe news was brought her she observed, casually:

"Thanks. By the way, I should like to ride this morning toMarkenstein. Do you think the weather is good enough to risk it?"

Napoleon, on his side, passed through agonies of doubt and longingwhen no letters came to him from Marie Louise. She was constantlyin his thoughts during his exile at St. Helena. "When his faithfulfriend and constant companion at St. Helena, the Count Las Casas,was ordered by Sir Hudson Lowe to depart from St. Helena, Napoleonwrote to him:

"Should you see, some day, my wife and son, embrace them. For twoyears I have, neither directly nor indirectly, heard from them.There has been on this island for six months a German botanist,who has seen them in the garden of Schoenbrunn a few months beforehis departure. The barbarians (meaning the English authorities atSt. Helena) have carefully prevented him from coming to give meany news respecting them."

At last the truth was told him, and he received it with that highmagnanimity, or it may be fatalism, which at times he was capableof showing. Never in all his days of exile did he say one wordagainst her. Possibly in searching his own soul he found excusessuch as we may find. In his will he spoke of her with greataffection, and shortly before his death he said to his physician,Antommarchi:

"After my death, I desire that you will take my heart, put it inthe spirits of wine, and that you carry it to Parma to my dearMarie Louise. You will please tell her that I tenderly loved her--that I never ceased to love her. You will relate to her all thatyou have seen, and every particular respecting my situation anddeath."

The story of Marie Louise is pathetic, almost tragic. There is thetaint of grossness about it; and yet, after all, there is a lessonin it--the lesson that true love cannot be forced or summoned atcommand, that it is destroyed before its birth by outrage, andthat it goes out only when evoked by sympathy, by tenderness, andby devotion.